


Chief of the Armed Forces

by catmanu



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - Canadian 21st c., Political RPF - France 21st c.
Genre: Crack, Guilt, M/M, Macdeau, Repression, because of course they would, crackfic justin's fantasies have the worst dirty talk, fap fappity fap fap, poor easily offended justin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-07 06:27:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18404984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catmanu/pseuds/catmanu
Summary: Justin already has a folder of photos of Manu he's stolen off the internet.  He doesn't even want to know how many are in there; it's probably a pretty embarrassing number.  And that's not even counting the photos of a, well, private nature saved on his phone.But it doesn't matter.  He's going to have to make another folder, now.  He wishes he could password-protect it, encrypt it, do something to keep people from seeing what's in there.His hands are shaking a little as he gives the folder a title.Chef des armées.





	Chief of the Armed Forces

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to a certain person on Tumblr, I came up with this absurd idea. If you're reading this, you know who you are ;)
> 
> This is more than a bit of a crackfic. I have no idea how strongly IRL Justin feels about going to war. So just take this with a grain or two of cracky salt, aight?

The whole thing starts with an innocent text from Manu.  Justin’s heart jumps a little when the message comes in, as it always does. He’s not sure if it’ll ever stop.

_Hey love.  Got a minute?_

_For you?  I have two minutes!_

_I must be the luckiest guy in the world!.  Okay, will you go onto my Wikipedia page and tell me if my photo is good enough?_

_All your photos are good, Manu. Literally every single one._ And he adds a couple of relevant emojis.  The water drops always come in handy.  One day he’ll convince Manu to send him a couple of those eggplants back.

_Can’t I trust you to be objective?_

_I don’t /want/ to be objective._

_For five fucking seconds, Justin.  Go to my page and tell me how I look._

Justin does as he’s told.  How can he be objective about the photo?  There’s his Manu, his eyes so blue, his skin so clear, his nose so strong, that little gap between his teeth showing.  There’s just no way any picture of him could be bad, and he’s about to text Manu back to tell him that when he notices something that’s never caught his eye before. 

It’s one of Manu’s many titles and responsibilities.  Chef des armées.  Chief of the Armed Forces.

Justin goes cold.

_Justin?  What do you think?_

He’s never thought about this title of Manu’s before, this aspect of his important role.

 _Are you taking a little personal time?  I didn’t think my photo was /that/ good, but I know how you are about me._

_Yeah the photo’s great!  I have a call coming in, I need to take it, sorry!_

He dives right into Wikipedia. It’s time to do a little research on the French military. 

*

He’s been reading so intensely he had to stop to put his glasses on, something he rarely does.  He’s learned a lot.  Well…some of it he already knew, but putting it all in the context of Manu is a game-changer.

France apparently has the sixth-largest defense budget on the planet.  The largest military in the EU.  And they’re one of the few nuclear-weapons states in the Non-Proliferation Treaty.

His Manu— _his Manu—_ could start a nuclear war. 

Never mind that nothing about this thought is realistic.  Now it’s in his mind.  Manu can push that button anytime he likes.

He tries his best to let it slide, but only a few days later, he’s doing some Google searches he shouldn’t be doing.  _Stop it, Justin!_ he lectures himself each time.  _Fucking stop it!_ But there are just so many photos of Manu in this role.  He’s smiling gleefully as he gets lowered from a military helicopter into a nuclear submarine.  He’s wearing a very… _attractive…_ hat that looks naval, not that he’s an expert.  And there’s photos of him reviewing the troops, _his_ troops, dressed so nicely, so sharply, with his blue scarf tied dashingly around his neck. 

Justin wonders how Manu felt in all these moments.  Did he feel strong?  Powerful?  Did he like it?  Did he enjoy looking at the row of men and women with that cold, dispassionate stare that made nerves flutter in Justin’s stomach just from looking at the picture?  This is a part of being a head of state Justin hadn’t truly considered before he ran for office, and not one he wants.  But maybe Manu does.

* 

Manu sends one of his usual texts that normally give Justin trouble.  An abrupt _You know…if I keep thinking about the way you say my name when I suck you off, I won’t be able to get up from this table for quite a while._ Justin is supposed to respond, and part of him definitely wants to, but he doesn’t. 

And a few hours later: _We should find a way to take a bath together next time we’re in a hotel.  Imagine what that would feel like, my sweet Justin.  Tell me what you’re imagining._

Guilt is washing through him, but what he’s imagining is Manu’s gleeful face as he was lowered into the nuclear sub.  He doesn’t know how to respond to any advances from Manu right now, sexual or otherwise.  He thinks of all the times he protested police brutality in Montreal.   What would that sweet, peace-loving Justin say to this one?

Manu’s texts continue throughout the day.

_Justin?  Are you okay?_

_Justin?_

_Justin, I have other things I need to do, and I’m sitting here worrying about you instead.  Can you text me back?_

_Justin, I don’t have time to worry about you.  I hate worrying.  Text me._

_I’m going to sleep.  Goodnight…sweet maple leaf???_

Manu has never been a clingy, needy texter.  That’s Justin’s role, and he’s not even ashamed to admit it.  There’s nothing wrong with needing someone else, especially when that person is Manu.  How could he _not_ need Manu?

But how can he let himself need the man who leads one of the world’s biggest militaries?

His phone rings after midnight.  It’s Manu calling, and the part of Justin that doesn’t know how to handle Manu right now is more than a bit overridden by the parts of him that want to hear his voice, his sweet accent, always, always, _always._ He quietly slips out of bed and tiptoes out into the hall.

“Hello?”

“Why are you avoiding me?”  Manu gets right to it.  It’s what, 6:30 AM there?  He’s been up for a couple hours already, and he’s fully alert while Justin is half-asleep.  He doesn’t care for Manu’s sharp tone.  

“I’m not really avoiding you…I’m just having a moral dilemma.” 

“Aren’t you always.  So, I’m assuming it involves me?  Do I send you too many of my fantasies during the day?  Is that a breach of ethics?”  He’s joking, but Justin hears something less light behind it.  He imagines Manu’s fingers circling the red button, stroking it, ready to declare nuclear war, maybe even _happy_ to declare nuclear war.  It’s disturbing. 

It’s making him hard.

_What?  Why!!!  No!_

“How can you stand being in charge of the French military?”  Justin has tucked himself away safely in his study, and he explodes.  Emotionally, of course.  He’s going to sort out whatever’s going on in his pants if it’s the last thing he does.  There will be none of _those_ kinds of explosions tonight. 

“I’m sorry, _what?_ ”

“You’re the…commander in chief!  Head of the armed forces!  Whatever you call it, you’re in charge of one of the biggest militaries in the world, Manu, and the French army in particular has such a colonialist history.  I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Manu sighs.  “Let me try to understand this.  You stopped talking to me because I’m the commander in chief of the French armed forces?”

“I just don’t know how to process it.”

“Don’t you love Star Wars? Am I wrong, or is _Wars_ a part of the title?  Half the title, even?”

Justin doesn’t know how to calm himself down.  Emotionally, or otherwise. “Don’t…Don’t bullshit me, Manu.  It’s fiction.  Neither of us is going to be dueling with Darth Vader, but you could…but you could…You have nukes, Manu.  You could end the world.”  There it is in his mind again, Manu stroking the red button, stroking, stroking…stroking _him…_

“Justin, are you _high?_ I also have two hands to choke you with, but I’m not going to do that either.  What the fuck is going on?”

Angry Manu.  Militaristic Manu.  Justin is only getting harder.  He stares miserably at his lap.

“I said, it’s an umm, it’s an ethical dilemma.”

“Should I be worried about you, Justin?  Even coming from you this is crazy.  Canada also has a military, and you have dealings with it, and you think I haven’t seen your photos with the—”

“I don’t know how to make you understand—” 

“—the NATO forces, inspecting those tanks?  You looked _good._ ”

“It made me very uncomfortable to be inspecting the---Wait, you think I looked good?”

“Justin, damn it, you always look good.   But yeah, you also looked uncomfortable.” 

“Of course I was. I don’t like war.  I don’t like real-life weaponry.  I said _real life_ so you don’t bring up light sabers, by the way.” 

“I don’t like war, either.  Sometimes you have ideas about me that I…I don’t understand.”

“I don’t think we’re going to get any further with this,” Justin snaps.

“I agree.  And I’ve got work piled up.  Well…Goodnight, Justin.  I hope you can get some sleep.  It might help you with your problems.”

“Thanks, Manu.  Love you,” he says automatically, but he’s not sure that’s what he’s feeling.  He’s thinking about these _problems._

He sits on the couch with his head in his hands, thinking about big combat boots stomping on the ground, gunfire, veterans with missing limbs, refugees, orphaned children, imperialism, nationalism, land mines, gunfire, big combat boots, Manu’s strong hands and slender wrists pulling a pair of those boots on and lacing them up…

It takes Justin a few long, tortured eons till he goes soft. 

*

Justin already has a folder of photos of Manu he's stolen off the internet. He doesn't even want to know how many are in there; it's probably a pretty embarrassing number. And that's not even counting the photos of a, well, personal and private nature saved on his phone.

But it doesn't matter. He's going to have to make another folder, now. He wishes he could password-protect it, encrypt it, do something to keep people from seeing what’s in there.  Forget _people._ He’d rather keep himself from seeing.

His hands are shaking a little as he gives the folder a title.  _Chef des armées._

 

*

 

He comes across a photo of Manu visiting the French Air Force, dressed in an olive-green flight suit and big, heavy-looking shoes.  Or are they boots?  It’s very Top Gun.  It’s very, very tight on him.

It’s one of the only _public_ photos out there of Manu’s bulge.  But he’s touched the real thing enough times that he can imagine doing it, and he curls his left hand around the air while his right hand gets to work on himself.  He can almost feel the weight of Manu’s cock in his hand as in his mind he starts to touch Manu through the flight suit.  He sees Manu give him that smirk, the one he always puts on at first to pretend that Justin isn’t making him feel good, and then he sees Manu’s head fall back slightly, his lips part, as they do when he can’t pretend any longer, his fingers gripping the desk behind him.  Oh, there’s a desk in his fantasy, Justin realizes.  Maybe they’re in a situation room.  Or an air force base.  And Manu is getting ready for war.

 _Oh, yes, Justin,_ Manu breathes in his mind.  _Make me explode with desire.  Make me come so hard for you that I’m wet and sticky as I drop the bombs.  All because of you, sweet love._ Manu doesn’t really talk like that, but his imagination always kicks into overdrive when he’s getting himself off.  It’s more fun that way.

 _Anything, my Manu, I’ll do anything, anything.  Will you think of me as you do it?  Will they be innocent or guilty?_ In real life, he can feel his hand stroking Manu through his flight suit so vividly that he doesn’t think he’ll last much longer.  His right hand is cramping, and yet he still speeds it up around his cock.  Something deep inside him is in charge.  He doesn’t know what the something is.  He’s never felt it before.  And something about that is—

_I’ll aim for the guilty ones, Justin.  But there are always casualties.  Tragedies.  I’ll say your name when I do it, Justin.  I’ll drop the bombs for you._

“For me, yes, Manu, for me,” Justin cries out, and grabs his chair as a flood of guilt and euphoria pushes him over the edge.  And then he’s left with a hand, a sleeve, and light-grey pants that are all in a state that’s very much not appropriate for a Prime Minister.  Everything about this is so fevered and terrible and _wrong_ that he didn’t even remember to grab a tissue.

*

Manu has taken to sending Justin photos of _himself_.  The photos are clearly chosen for a reason.

_Look at you, reviewing some Canadian troops._

_Oh, here’s you reviewing some more troops._

Justin is so frustrated it’s making him angry.  _How do you have time for this?_

_I don’t, but someone’s got to shut you up._

_I think my moral dilemma is very reasonable._

_Okay, Justin.  Would you like to see some more photos of you with the Canadian army?_

No.  That’s not what he wants to see at all.  He wants to open his folder of his _Chef des armées_ and keep doing what he’s been doing, scrolling through the photos of Manu while rubbing his cock with his free hand.  Knowing his luck, if he whips it out in his office someone will come bursting in at the worst possible moment, so he teases himself through his pants, never letting himself get too close.  It’s like a punishment.  He just can’t let himself reach a heavenly, beautiful climax while staring at Manu getting lowered into a nuclear submarine.  He doesn’t think this is what someone in their 40s should be doing, but this is what he wants, needs.  He’s obsessed.

*  

He wakes up suddenly at three AM, covered in sweat, so hard it hurts.  He knows he’d been dreaming about Manu, and though the images are slipping away from him, the feeling’s still there.  There’s no way he’ll be able to get back to sleep without taking care of this.  He runs into the bathroom, locks the door, and tosses his sweatpants into a corner.  He sinks onto the floor, shivering as he takes his cock in his hand.  He’s so sensitive right now.  He’s so needy.

He and Manu are in a bunker somewhere.  It’s got chairs and tables and maps and flashing lights and the big, red button that will end the world.  Manu is sitting in front of the button.

 _Come sit on my lap, Justin._

_I’ll crush you, Manu._

_I’m the head of the armed forces.  I’m very strong.  Sit on me, I want you to feel how turned on I am._

The bathroom floor underneath him has all but vanished.  Justin feels how hard Manu is against his back as he sits down on his lap.  He’s going to watch Manu set off a nuclear explosion and Manu’s going to be hard while he does it.

 _Are you turned on by this, Justin?_ Manu asks, softly, running his palm over Justin’s cock.

 _Yes,_ Justin tells Manu in his head, and “Yes,” he moans out loud.

_Oh, Justin.  You should be so embarrassed.  So ashamed…I’m going to make bombs rain down on every country, and it’ll just be you and me left in this bunker…We’ll have forever, Justin.  Are you afraid of me?_

_No, no, no…You’re my Manu, my powerful—My Manu._

Justin’s legs slide farther apart on the floor, his right foot kicking the wall.   He barely feels it.

 _Manu, will you…jerk me off while you press the button?_ “Manu, will you…jerk me off while you press the button?” he asks the empty room.  He’s closing his eyes, starting to breathe a little faster.

 _Aren’t you depraved?  I’ve been waiting to see this side of you._ Justin can feel Manu kissing his neck.  _I’ll do something even better while I touch you.  Here, give me your hand._

_What are you going to do, Manu?_

_I’m going to hold it just like this.  Juuuuuust like this, just over the red button.  And I’m going to lower it down, see?  And I’m going to hold it as you—you, Justin Trudeau, prime minister of peace and kindness—press this button.  And I’m going to keep touching you, slowly, just like this.  You’ll feel so good when you destroy everything, and I’ll be so proud of—_

He yells too loud for Manu, thrusts against the air, stains his shirt _again,_ and it doesn’t stop, the pleasure is sweeping him away…

And when he finally lets go of his cock, exhausted, he doesn’t know what to feel. He’s always been proud of that imagination of his, even if it does strange things to Manu’s speech patterns, but this was surprising, frightening, concerning.  He’s panting, curling up on the floor.  This is the most taboo thing he can possibly think of to get off to and he’s just come so hard it’s knocked the wind out of him.

There are tears in his eyes.

This has to stop already.  He reaches over to his sweatpants, pulls his phone out of his pocket, and calls Manu.  _Please pick up.  Please pick up._

“Good morning, Captain Trudeau!  How are the boys doing over at boot camp?”

“Okay, Manu, enough.  Seriously.  That’s enough, okay?  I want to forget about all this military stuff.”

“Hmmm.  You know what…You sound like you’ve just jerked yourself off.  You have, right?  I know that voice.  How’s your hand?”

“It got a workout.  But I’m not into what I thought about.”

“What the hell did you think about, me leading troops into England?”

“Kind of…I imagined us blowing up the whole world, together.  You helped me push the button.”

“Justin, what the _fuck._ ”

“It was, umm…erotic.”

Manu doesn’t say anything, but Justin can hear him breathe.  It’s soothing, almost post-coital.

 “I think you’re repressing a lot of things,” he finally says.

“Maybe I am.”

“So you thought about us ending the world together, huh?  You think that’s how I’d want to spend my last day with you?  Blowing something up?  You don’t know me at all, then.” 

“What would you want?”

Manu sighs.  “I don’t really have time for this, Justin.  I have to get ready for a press conference in about ten minutes.”

“Please, Manu.  _Please._ Change these images I’m having of you.  My love.” 

Manu sighs harder.  “Alright.  If the world were ending, it wouldn’t be because of me.  Or you.  Okay?  I’d want us somewhere in Paris.  A tiny room in the attic, curled up on the bed.”  Justin remembers that Manu has written novels.  “I’d want you naked against me, naked and hard, so you were the last thing I’d ever see and feel.”  _Oh, Manu!_ Justin’s heart is melting.  _This_ is who he’s been thinking of as a war-monger?  “And I’d read to you.”

“What would you read?”

“Whatever you’d like, Justin.  And I’d encourage you to touch your cock, rub it against me, whatever you want, so I can hear how you sound.  And that’s how I’d want the world to end…Not with a bang, but a whimper.”  He laughs.

“Really, Manu?  Only you would be lewd and then quote T.S. Eliot in the same breath.” 

“Only me?  I think you’d do the same.” 

Justin grins and, for the first time in a while, feels at ease.  

“Alright. Anytime I see anything about you and the military, I’m going to think about all that instead.”

“I’m glad, but Justin…Don’t keep looking that stuff up.  I mean it, you’re definitely repressing something, and photos of me and the troops aren’t helping it.”

“Mmmm,” Justin breathes, almost not listening.  Repression?  What was that?  A new story is creeping into his overworked mind.  Manu in some sort of World War II uniform—an Allied one, of course.  He’s kissing Justin on the cheeks, on the lips, his strong hands tangling in his hair.

_Be good while I’m gone, Justin.  Don’t find anyone else.  You belong to me._

_Manu, I could never.  I’ll think about you every second while you’re over there in France.  I’ll write you every day._

_And I’ll get as many of them as I can.  I’ll fight to the end._

_You will, Manu?  You’ll kill some Nazis for me?_

_Well…for humankind.  But also for you.  I’ll say your name when I do it, Justin.  I’ll get every last one of them for you._

 

**Author's Note:**

> As always! Hit me up to talk about Macdeau!


End file.
